Barriers
by Seabound
Summary: Ian Kabra needs a mold; he's falling apart, and every day he's reminded that he can't have Amy Cahill... Until the day she shows him that she might be the right one to break his barriers and build him again. Amian/Iamy


**Author's Note:** So... This is a one-shot with an interesting topic I thought up. This took me an hour, despite its length, and I think it came out pretty okay. Please review, and check out my other stories. I'm happy to tell you that I'm rewriting "Crimson Lies". "To Forgive" and "Turbulence" will be updated soon. All the stories on my profile are Amian/Iamy, so I guess you know how much I love this pairing.

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _The 39 Clues_ are owned by its authors. All story plots, OCs, and words belong to me, AmberCahill. If the need to contact me arises, then leave your question/concern in the reviews - I don't PM.

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1.

"Do you love her?"

The question is abrupt, piercing the silence like a knife on flesh. Her tone is sullen and cold, but he can tell she's trying to keep her emotions out of it. He'd like to ask her the same thing, but he knows it's about him, and that she'd just get irritated if he tried to change the subject. It's always been business with her, and she's been quite indifferent to him since the proposal. Maybe this was her way of speaking out her heart, but he wishes _both_ of them had done it earlier.

"I don't know," he replies.

She looks at him incredulously, wind blowing her hair into her face. Her gaze returns to the flowerbeds of his mansion's garden, and she presses her lips together. She winds the blades of grass that tickle her bare legs and pull them out of the earth. "You either love someone, or you don't. There's no maybe in this."

"Fine," he says, sighing. "I don't. I don't love her." He crosses his legs at the ankle, leaning against the tree behind him. His black suit has specks of dirt and leaves, but he doesn't care. All he wants is some time to be free. It's uncharacteristic of him to sit on the ground, but he wants to be with the girl in front of him, despite the burden sitting inside his home, conversing with his (very disappointed) sister.

He wasn't sure why he got down on his knee for that specific woman; the only thing they ever did was give each other chaste kisses and hugs. His touch barrier with her had never gone farther than that, and he didn't want to stretch it any further.

"Then why are you marrying her?" she asks, her eyes avoiding his. She smooths her pale green dress, and tightens the white cardigan around herself as the spring breeze wafts towards them, filled with scents of newly bloomed plants. She's not one to pry, but she needs to know. The uneasy thudding of her heart has been going on for a few weeks, ever since she'd received the phone call. Her stomach churns, reminding her of wasted chances and formality that should have been dropped.

"I need a mold," he responds, "A mold in my life to live upon."

"A mold," she repeats softly. "Are you sure she's the mold you need? Not everyone can give you a mold."

He stands suddenly, and she does the same, slipping on her slightly wedged sandals. He crosses his arms, "I need a mold because I'm falling apart. I have no purpose, and I feel so empty. You keep reminding me of something I can't have."

Her breath catches in her throat, and she pushed the strands of read out of her face. She's not totally sure about what he's talking about, and feels as dense as her brother. She can practically hear the two most conflict-prone people in her life screaming at her to do _something,_ and take a chance. She's wasted all too many, and has grasped one more... "Who told you that you couldn't just _take?"_ she says. "That's never stopped you before."

"I've changed."

"To tell you the truth, no one cares how you are... Unless you act like a pompous jerk."

A faint smile appears on his lips - one of the rare smiles that light up his whole face, smiles that only appear when he's with the blushing, stuttering girl before him. He catches the insinuation she throws into her sentence; _no one_ meaning _her. _

Despite his arrogant and egoistic mind, a part of his brain realizes that she's right. Cécile Moreau will not give him the structure he needed. She is just a second piece of eye candy (for the males) to his appearance, and is probably faking her romance to some extent. Both sides of their relationship is based on not hurting the other's feelings. He didn't love her, she was just a good friend. A friend that he could never call his wife.

Her expression turns confused as he spins around and heads back inside. She has to jog to keep up to his long strides. "Where are you going?" she asks, taking the door he holds it open for her (he may be in a rush, but he'll always be a gentleman). He doesn't answer, but keeps up his long strides, calling for the butler.

"Where are Cécile and my sister?"

The man bows his head. "They are in the dining hall, planning for your wedding with Ms. Gomez. They are accompanied by the guests," he says, gesturing towards the young woman.

He nods, and turns through twisting hallways, with her trailing after him with curiosity. "Can you please tell me why you're so rushed?"

"I need to set things right."

She has no idea what he means by it, but knows not to pry further, and instead falls behind a few steps. When they reach the oak doors, he rests his palm against the cool wood, taking a deep breath. She watches him as he makes way inside, and leans against the doorway (just in case there's an awkward situation and she wants to escape).

The women are conversing loudly (the three look rather unenthusiastic), and her brother is teaching her uncle how to play Temple Run, a bored expression prominent on both their faces at the female topic of discussion. They all halt their actions at the arrival of the two.

He walks towards his wife-to-be, pulling her out of her seat with a fake smile. He seems reluctant to give Cécile a kiss (near the door, the girl looks away, the painful thudding back), and leads her into the adjacent room. There's a few moments of silence within the dining hall, everyone staring at the girl expectantly for an explanation, but she just shrugs, thoroughly baffled herself.

When they return, Cécile's smiling, but her eyes are glittering with sadness. She talks to the man in rapid French, pecking him on both cheeks, and bidding everyone farewell with a wave. At the two oak doors, she takes the girl's hands in her own. Hesitant green meet happy, crystal blue.

"You are very lucky. I can't say I'm upset, because I'm not, and I hope you the best," Cécile says, and the young woman looks at their hands, noticing the absence of the diamond ring. Even though she's still confused, realization dawns on her as Cécile gives her a friendly hug. She departs, and the girl turns around.

"Ian, please tell me you didn't do that because of..." she chokes on her words, biting her lip. She stares across the room, taking no notice of the family sitting with them.

He strolls towards the window, creaking it open a notch. He looks at something in the center of his palm, and draws his arm back, before throwing it outside. He slowly turns around, facing the open mouth of his sister.

"That was the ring," she says.

"Yes."

"And you just threw it out the window."

"Yes."

Relief spreads across Natalie's face, and breaks into a grin. "Oh my gosh, _thank you_!" She throws her arms around her brother. "I'll go cancel the plans!"

"I'll come and help," Nellie says, following her (with a discreet wink towards the redhead).

"I'll be in the arcade."

"And I'll be in the room next to this one," Fiske says, glancing at the two, his words traced with a small threat.

The door closes behind him, and silence sets in. Amy's hands are still covering her mouth in shock, her eyes sparkling with tears. She's frozen to her spot as Ian walks closer, with hands in his pockets and an unfamiliar shy smile. He meets Amy's eyes, and his lips quirk into a smirk.

"Glad to know I stupor you silent."

Her hands move to her hips and she playfully scold him. "You're such a pompous jerk."

"I thought that you hated that about me."

She laughs softly, shaking her head, and leaps into his open arms. His body is warm, enveloping her in scents of musky clove. The aching of her chest has stopped, and the thudding has become a pleasant feeling of butterflies. He tilts her head, smoldering amber meeting springy jade.

And then their lips meld and mold together after far too long.


End file.
